Given how much I resist and resent the concept of going to work - of interrupting my life to perform tasks for someone else like a trained monkey - it's bizarre and surreal how energised I feel afterwards, buoyed up by the concept of having worked. I bound up the stairs, giggle in the lift, put on Tea Party louder than it should be and dance in the bathroom.

Then I make myself coffee. Real coffee. Bilgewater be gone. Get thee to a nunnery. I'll get myself utterly addicted to coffee by making enough for two cups in the stovetop thing every day, and then having to drink it all because, well, it's already made. What else am I going to do with it?

But work was... well, boring, actually. As a highlight, a rather charming ruffian came into the store and visited me. I considered evicting him, but didn't think I could take him. He was mean and tough.

In my continuing efforts to prove to Jojo that I have no life, this weekend's highlight is going to be seeing Ned Kelly with the fangirls. If all else fails, we'll have a lot of fun MST3King it.

"And if your hands were metal, that would mean something."